


build a city that dreams for two

by johniaurens



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Terrible Misuse of Pointe Shoes, misuse of ballet terms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 22:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6585262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johniaurens/pseuds/johniaurens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It had started as a joke – James Madison joking about being a ballerina and Alex laughing, saying “yeah, me too”, and then Jefferson had walked into the room and heard them and it had turned out that both Jefferson <i>and</i> Madison <i>actually did do ballet</i> and that they were both serious. Jefferson had looked at him with that cocky god damn smirk and he physically could not back down from the challenge, had cleared his throat, said “I've been dancing since I was six, actually”.</i>
</p><p>lams ballet au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doriantrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doriantrash/gifts).



> i dont do ballet or any other type of dance. at all. 
> 
> title is from find you by zedd
> 
> NOTE - in this fic martha is played by [antonia thomas](https://pmcdeadline2.files.wordpress.com/2016/03/antoniathomas.jpeg?w=970) and theodosia is played by [bae suzy](http://entertainment.inquirer.net/files/2015/11/restmb_jhidxmake-2.jpg)
> 
> the chapter # is a rough estimate. i only have a vague plan.
> 
> all mistakes are my own & i'll only be happy if u point them out to me.
> 
> i blame pluto. she sent me [this gif](http://45.media.tumblr.com/33b870a0861a4bf3763c119d22421411/tumblr_nz1n6fiaxg1qaiz7jo3_250.gif) and mentioned anthony ramos in ballet tights. [shakes fist angrily]

This is Jefferson's fault. 

There's no _if_ s or _and_ s about it, this is entirely Jefferson's fault and Alex is going to _show him_ that he cannot just go around being _mean_ for no reason because it's going to come back and bite him right in the ass. The _it_ being Alex, in this case. 

It had started as a joke – James Madison joking about being a ballerina and Alex laughing, saying “yeah, me too”, and then Jefferson had walked into the room and heard them and it had turned out that both Jefferson _and_ Madison _actually did do ballet_ and that they were both serious. Jefferson had looked at him with that cocky god damn smirk and he physically could not back down from the challenge, had cleared his throat, said “I've been dancing since I was six, actually”.

It would be no big deal except for the fact that now that he's said it he needs to actually learn ballet because Jefferson is the kind of person that will seek out an opportunity to humiliate him, usually in front of as many people as possible, and Alex is not the kind of person to just _let_ himself be humiliated by anyone and especially not by _Jefferson_. 

So. Here he is, signing up for a beginners ballet class. He figures that it can't possibly be that hard. He'll learn it in no time at all, and then he'll know how to do ballet and he'll prove Jefferson wrong.

-

John Laurens has had a _very_ long day by the time his junior intermediate class walks out of the room. They're sweet kids, but teaching twelve to fifteen year olds is always challenging in a way teaching older teens and adults isn't. His advanced group had given him a hard time earlier that day – they have been slacking off all summer and as a result were in terrible shape, aside from Martha Washington who he doubts has ever taken a single day off in her entire life, and by the time they'd moved onto across the floor four people had asked for a break and he'd been ready to go home. He knows they try their best and that it isn't fair of him to expect them to make ballet their first priority over long breaks since their class isn't even a competitive one, since they dance only because they enjoy it, not because they really want to make a career out of it or win prizes or even necessarily advance very much further, but coming back from break and realizing that his more advanced dancers have took steps _back_ while he's been away just isn't that nice.

The mixed class is always interesting, with half of it being his competitive advanced group and the other half being his adult beginners. His competition group is too small to need a separate class period and experienced enough to be able to help each other whenever he's busy with the newbies. It's a tight-knit group of ambitious dancers, the crème de la crème of his studio, and with their class stretching for 90 minutes each day he's able to focus on them after his newbie class dismisses after only 45 minutes. It isn't ideal, but they're managing. 

Angelica Schuyler is the first person to walk into the room. She's a full hour early, still wearing her sweater over her leotard, hair in a neat bun and shoes in her hand. She likes to be early, likes to stretch on her own for a little while before class starts. With a schedule as busy as hers John can understand her desire to take a breather between her classes. He waves at her and she shoots a smile at him, raises her hand in acknowledgment. She settles down on the floor next to the window facing the street.

Maria, Peggy, and Eliza arrive in one flock of excited chatter and animated hand gestures ten minutes later, and as soon as they spot him moving the barres into places they drop their bags by the door and walk over to help him. Listening to them talk about their summer, giggling every now and then cheers him up a bit, and when Eliza pokes Peggy in the side, causing her to yelp and drop her keys he finds himself laughing for the first time that day. Maria settles down on the floor next to Angelica, puts her head on her shoulder. Kisses the side of her neck. Mumbles something into her ear. Angelica hides her smile into Maria's hair, wraps her arms around her.

Lafayette and Mulligan arrive together, as always, coffee in hand, Lafayette talking a mile a minute in a mixture of English and French, Mulligan listening patiently. He understands more French than he lets on and Lafayette knows it, and there's something about their relationship that sometimes makes John ache. They are so completely perfect for each other. They sit down next to Angelica and Maria, and Mulligan coos at them while Lafayette waggles his eyebrows, makes a crude hand gesture, and Angelica sticks out her tongue at them.

Martha comes into the room, drops her bag onto the floor, and then Peggy is screaming and Martha is screaming and Eliza is also screaming, though a little quieter. It's more of a sympathetic scream than anything else, it seems, and it amuses John to no end, the way the Schuyler sisters are so in sync with each other. Peggy kisses Martha and Eliza bounces around both of them like an excited puppy. John knows that Eliza's spent her summer in New York City while Angelica's been in France and Peggy's been all around the country on some school sponsored trip. Martha's spent the time she wasn't working in the Caribbean, and John knows that the girls have all missed each other. 

Lafayette walks over, and he doesn't scream but he does gather all of the girls into his arms, tries to hug all of them at the same time and only kind of succeeds. They're all talking, still, hugging each other very tightly and talking and Peggy's still sort of screaming, bouncing a little. Eliza puts a hand on her shoulder like it's a reflex. Maybe it is. Peggy stops bouncing. 

John takes his eyes off of them, goes to his lesson plans. The newbies usually start streaming into the room five minutes before class starts and he's got plenty of time to go over the list of new students and their dance experiences and such. It's relaxing, really, gives him an opportunity to kind of get to know his students before he meets them and make sure that the lessons are both easy enough for everyone to feel welcome and challenging enough that the more experienced dancers don't get too bored.

His thoughts are interrupted when someone walks into the room. Eliza lets out a startled yelp from where she's lying down on the floor with Peggy and Martha half on top of her, and he looks to the doorway in alarm.  
“Shoes!”, Lafayette gasps from where he's lying down with his head in Mulligan's lap, facing the door. The boy in the doorway looks down at his feet like he never even realized he was wearing them.  
“Oh”, he says, hastily toes them off, and John smiles at that. The boy half-tiptoes across the room to him. 

“Alexander Hamilton. Alex”, he says as soon as he's close enough to shake his hand, offers his hand, and John shakes it, says “John Laurens”, and Alex smiles at him, wide, lopsided. He's cute, John acknowledges. Tan skin, smooth black hair, and huge, dark eyes. John has eyes. He's allowed to notice.

“Is class about to start already?” John asks. Alex shakes his head, a blur of dark hair, says “No, we still have forty minutes until class starts. I just like to be early”, and John sighs. “Oh”, he says, resigned. He's not that into people coming in early – he only lets his magnificent seven do it because they're more like a second family at this point. Well. His only family, really. The point is, newbies never come in early and he likes it that way, thank you very much.

Alexander just keeps staring at him, this funny half-smile on his face, and it's kind of making John nervous, but he looks back with his own smile, and then the black haired menace opens his mouth again. “So”, he says, bounces a little bit. “I just wanted to swing by early and introduce myself, also I was wondering how long it usually takes for people to master ballet, I'm giving myself a month but I’m pretty sure I can do it in less time if I push myself, I was just wondering what would be a reasonable time frame since I really do need to learn it very quickly, ha-”

The cuddle pile is still staring. Maria and Angelica have joined the rest of the class in the middle of the room, Angelica's head pillowed on Lafayette's chest and Maria's head on her stomach. They have repositioned themselves so that they can watch the exchange happening in front of them, snickering quietly. John's pretty sure Martha hasn't blinked since Alex walked into the room. He shoots a dirty look their way. Martha looks away. Hercules goes back to braiding Lafayette's hair. 

“Alex”, John sighs, interrupting what is without a doubt the most misguided spiel he has ever heard in his entire life, and Alex closes his mouth, inhales. “You cannot, and I stress, _cannot_ master ballet in a month. You cannot master it in a _year_. Some of the dancers in my very best class have been dancing for seventeen or more years and they _still_ have trouble with _extending their ankles_ ”. He glances at Maria. She sticks out her tongue at him. Angelica “aw”s at her, tugs at a strand of her hair affectionately. “Point is”, he continues, holding up a hand when Alex opens his mouth, “do _not_ expect too much. If you want to be good you need to practice every day. You need to put your soul into it. And most importantly, you need to put _time_ into it”. Alex looks like he still wants to say something, but he closes his mouth, nods sullenly. “Okay”, he says. John nods at him, cracks a smile. “You'll be fine”.

-

Alex ends up standing next to a pretty girl in a heather gray leotard and white tights. Her attire looks expensive and her hair is tucked into a neat bun. She looks so _professional_ that Alex hadn't been able to keep himself from asking her if she'd taken a ballet class before. It had turned out that she had, in fact, not. Instead her father “had a lot of money to burn” and she was just “happy to help him burn it”, as she had said with a dry smile, and Alex had nodded in a manner he hoped had been understanding. She had introduced herself as Theodosia Prevost, “Just Theo is okay” and he'd almost launched into a long-winded speech then and there, but had somehow managed to bite his tongue and left the introduction at “Alexander Hamilton, or Alex, or Hamilton, or Alexander”, and she'd laughed, and he'd smiled back.

John is a good teacher, Alex notes. He pays attention to all of them individually, and even though there are only five other people in his class, not counting the separate class that seems to be more or less teaching each other, it still makes Alex smile. He's not sure why it makes him so happy, but he's glad that his teacher knows what he's doing.

The class goes by so quick it feels like he only just barely got there. They did not do very much at all, and much of the class was stretching and learning how to use their feet properly. John showed them a few simple poses and they tried to copy them to their best ability, John walking among them and occasionally fixing their postures and feet placement, muttering corrections softly as he went. Alex had been focusing so hard on staying upright he hadn't noticed that John was approaching him until he felt his breath on his hair and felt his hand on the top of his spine, pushing gently to fix his posture. He'd just barely kept his balance, shot a panicked smile at John, and he'd smiled right back, moved on to the next student with posture problems.

Theodosia seemed like she was born to do this, flexible and balanced, long-limbed and slender, and Alex felt a little awkward next to her. He isn't very flexible, it turns out, and god if that isn't driving him up the wall. He makes a vow to start stretching more regularly.

He can't help but notice how Theodosia's gaze keeps shifting to the side of the room where the other group of dancers is chattering quietly as they practice. He's not sure which one she's staring at, at first, but then one of the girls, the black haired one with a round face and large eyes, dressed in a copper leotard, turns to look at them with a smile on her face, and Theodosia quickly turns her head away, face burning. It's cute. Alex smiles. Makes eye contact with John and finds himself blushing for some reason. 

“Theo”, Alex whispers into her ear loudly when John dismisses the class and turns his attention to the advanced group. She jumps, turns back to glare at him. Alex grins back at her innocently. “Walk with me?”. Theodosia looks suspicious but nods anyway, lets Alex take her arm.

-

Alex is early for the next class as well. And the next. And the next. And the next. The fifth time John sees him he's carrying a pair of pointe shoes.

“No,” he says flatly, snatches them out of his hand. Alex's face falls. 

“I read online that they help you to point your feet”, he whines. John rolls his eyes so hard he's scared they're going to fall out. “You do not know how to point your feet well enough to wear these yet. We have a separate _class_ focused on learning to use these shoes. You are _not_ ready for them”. Alex opens his mouth. John glares hard at him, and Alex's shoulders drop and his face twists into a scowl. 

He plops down onto the floor at his feet as usual, starts his complicated pre-practice stretching ritual that makes John want to shake his head. Theodosia Prevost arrives twenty minutes later, and they start talking. 

John likes Theodosia; she's a sweet girl with a dancer's body, and she has more potential than the rest of the class combined. She's quiet and disciplined and John has no doubt she could get very far. Alexander on the other hand – well. He's small and skinny but not particularly flexible. He has a hard time standing still and concentrating on one thing for an extended period of time. He's sloppy and his technique is off, and it seems to be impossible for him to focus on both his arms and his legs at the same time, leaving either his arms or his feet sloppy. It isn't that surprising, honestly, a lot of his newbies never take a ballet class again, but he had imagined that Alex, with his desire to become what sounds like the best ballet dancer of all time, would be at least a little bit more gifted. He's focused, that's for sure, and he's making progress, slowly but surely, but he can't help but worry about him and his huge goals.

-

Jefferson catches him stretching at work once. He's got his legs spread as open as possible, upper body flat on the floor in the middle of the break down, and he's got ten breaths in when Jefferson barges in. He doesn't bother getting up, just stretches a bit further.

“What. The fuck.”

“It's called stretching, look it up”, retorts Alex dryly. He can almost touch his toes if he wiggles his fingers a little. His calves feel numb. There's a good kind of ache in his lower back that he hasn't been able to get rid of since he started classes a couple weeks ago. 

Jefferson walks around him carefully, like he's afraid of him, and it makes him feel a strange sort of powerful.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“He hates me”, Alex whines as he drags his hands down his own face._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [whispers] this is gay

Fall hits them all hard and by mid-September most of the class is either sick, about to get sick, or was just sick, and John has to take it easy on all of his classes. He doesn't like it but with the cold that's spreading in the class like wildfire he has to. Martha and Peggy are both sick, sniffling pitifully as they pirouette their way across the floor, and the rest of the class is avoiding them like the plague. He's miserable himself, sipping on his tea and coughing gently every time he has the chance to take a break from talking and walking. 

The newbies are all more or less congested and some of them seem downright feverish, a prime example being who else than Alexander Hamilton. He's only barely holding himself upright, cheeks flushed and eyes hazy. His under eye circles are even darker than usual. He looks like garbage and John cannot believe that he's not home underneath a whole stack of blankets. When he shows up the third time that week he's only twenty minutes early and just looks worse and John takes him by the shoulders, spins him around and marches him right out the door. He's so out of it he doesn't even protest. “You are way too sick to be here right now,” grumbles John as they go, fingers firm on Alexander's bony shoulders, “you are going to get the entire class sick and get pneumonia yourself and then die and I refuse to be responsible for that”. Alex doesn't respond. His footsteps are getting sluggish. It's like his legs are about to give up on him and John curses, low under his breath. Motherfucker. He isn't paid enough for this.

“Noooo,” he whines as John fumbles around the dressing room for his shoes and coat. “Yes,” says John in a no-nonsense tone that he usually uses with his juniors when they tell him that they haven't had time to practice. He finds Alex's coat and shoes and makes his way back to where Alex is slumped against the wall with his eyes closed. “Can you put this on?”, he asks. Alex's eyes open into slits. He holds out his arms and John hands him the coat. He puts it on with great effort while John slips his shoes on and ties them for him. Jesus Christ. He might need to go to the emergency room. “What's your home address?” he asks instead, types it into his phone maps quickly. 

“Peggy!”, he calls into the room. Peggy gets up from where she'd been flopped down on her belly on the floor. “You're leaving as well,” he says, puts his palm onto her forehead when she opens her mouth to complain. It's very warm. “You shouldn't be here either. I'm driving both of you home”. Martha didn't come in in the first place and for that John is grateful – she and Peggy have both been getting gradually worse, bravely dragging themselves to class, but there's just a point where they need to put their health first and class second. This is certainly the point. 

Eliza glances up at them from her phone when they pass her. “Is Angelica coming today?”. Eliza shrugs, brows knitting together with worry. “She hasn't said anything. I think so?”. Alex mumbles something unintelligible into John's shoulder. He sighs. “Okay. If she comes in and she's feeling okay tell her that she's responsible for the babies today. Y'all take it easy, you hear me? Take breaks. Drink warm water. If she doesn't come or she looks like these two here you take her place”. Eliza nods at him, cracks a smile. “Aye, aye, cap'n”. John pats her head affectionately. 

They lay Alex down across the backseat and strap him in. He doesn't protest, just curls up around himself a little and starts shivering. John looks around his trunk for a blanket but only finds a sweater. He puts it on top of him. It's better than nothing, he figures, even if it's very likely that it won't do anything through his coat. Peggy keeps glancing back at him with worry the whole way, and when he drops her off at her apartment she says, “you should probably just take him to the emergency room. John, he really doesn't look good”. John agrees, he does, but Alex hears them, grumbles out a weak “no doctors”. He sighs. Peggy looks apologetic. “I could help you.” John considers it – he's not sure if Alex is going to be able to get out of the car on his own and having an extra pair of arms in case he needs to carry him out of the car and into his apartment would definitely help. Peggy is sick herself, though, and having Alex and her in the same space for very long doesn't sound like a smart idea. Besides, Peggy needs to rest. “No, thanks. You need to lie down”. Peggy frowns at him but she gets out of the car. She drags her feet the whole way to the door, though.

-

Getting Alex out of the car is a challenge. He's went limp and when John touches his forehead he has to bite back a curse. To say that he's burning up would be a gross understatement. “Alex”, he says, softly, shakes him gently. “You're home, buddy”. Alex closes his eyes more insistently. John sighs.

He's not that heavy – the kid's all bones and muscle, but he is taller than John by an inch or two and he's kind of hard to balance. He walks but only barely. 

“Keys?” John requests softly when they reach his door, and Alex just says, “pocket”, and John reaches into his coat pocket, finds them. Opens the door. Opens all the doors in his apartment trying to find his room, and shoves him right in as soon as he finds the correct room.

He struggles to get out of his ballet tights and almost trips over his own feet several times, but finally he's under the covers, shivering and pathetic, a bundle of dark hair and chattering teeth. John brings him a glass of water and some painkillers that he found from the kitchen. “Here's my number”, he says, shoves the slip of paper into Alex's hand, closes his fingers around it. “Call me if you get any worse. I'll drive you to ER. Your roommate is out, apparently, but there was a note on the fridge saying that he should be back in twenty minutes”. He gets up.

“John”, he whimpers. John turns around, ready to dial 911, but Alexander just pats the empty side next to him. “Stay?”. 

And – he really shouldn't. He shouldn't. He should walk out and lock the door and drive away, but Alexander's eyes are so dark, so big, and he looks so _miserable_ and god, he _really_ shouldn't be left alone in this state, he's right, and then John's legs are moving and he's sitting down and, _oh_ , Alex's cuddling into his side, body shivering. 

Mother _fuck_.

-

Everything feels different after that. Alex returns to class soon enough, first just to sit down with his back against the wall, wrapped up in a blanket and taking notes furiously, then to participate. There's something weird between them now, and John's not happy about it – actually, he's kind of annoyed. Alex keeps staring at him with this _look_ and John has no idea what to make of it. He keeps staring as well, he supposes, keeps catching himself looking, and it keeps getting harder to ignore the implications of it.

“I swear, he just keeps _staring_. He keeps staring and I keep staring right back. We have some sort of weird bashful eye sex where we don't even look each other in the eye. It's not even eye sex. It's more like eye foreplay. Eliza. What does that mean,” he whines into Eliza's shoulder. “I made it weird. I didn't mean to make it weird. Eliza.” She lets out a stifled laugh, pets his hair. 

Eliza's the only one out of them that's sober at this point. This is a tradition – getting absolutely smashed the day after the fall recital, but Eliza has some test or audition or something the next day and she'd offered to be the designated driver, which would be fine, but with there being eight of them the plan didn't quite work out. They ended up just taking two taxis like usual. 

They're two rounds of shots in. Maria's braiding Martha's hair absently. Angelica and Peggy are braiding Lafayette's into two french braids. Hercules is watching intently, seemingly taking mental notes. John's not entirely sure why the groups go-to past time is hair braiding, but it's kind of endearing and he's not about to _say_ anything. 

“John Laurens”, Eliza says. “You should ask him out”. 

John chokes on his cocktail. Lafayette reaches out with one hand to pat his back sympathetically.

-

“Eliza”, says Angelica quietly from behind her. She's gesturing to the side of the room where the babies are doing tendus of drastically differing qualities, with Theodosia Prevost being on the better and Alexander Hamilton on the worse end of the scale. Eliza's halfway into a plié herself, and she tries her best to crane her neck in a way that allows her to look at whatever Angelica's trying to get her to look at while maintaining her posture.

“What?”, she answers just as quietly. Angelica smiles, nods in the general direction of Alexander and Theodosia, says, “she's been looking at you the whole class”. Eliza laughs. “So?”. Angelica's smile turns smug. “So? Ask her out. You keep looking at her too”. 

Eliza sputters. Angelica makes eye contact with her through the mirror and winks.

-

“Alex”, Theodosia hisses out when John dismisses them. Alex has plopped down onto the floor to watch the advanced group getting ready for the more intense part of their class. He does this sometimes, and at first it had kind of annoyed John but he's used to it by now and as long as Alex doesn't make comments he's okay with it. Theodosia sits down next to him, buries her face into her folded up knees. Alex wraps his arm around her shoulders sympathetically. “She's so _pretty_ ”. Her voice is thin. Alex pats her back, smiles into the side of her head.

He's been – watching, he supposes, the quiet dance Theodosia and Eliza are doing. They keep walking around each other in this weird sort of circle where one of them looks at the other one and the one that's being watched looks away, and then they repeat it again with the watcher now being the watched. It's endearing. It's also kind of annoying.

“Ask her out, Theo,” he says.

-

It takes them four more days to stop circling around each other.

One day after class Eliza comes into the dressing room to find Theodosia still there, and when she opens her mouth what comes out is “do you want to get coffee with me maybe?”, and Theodosia's mouth drops open. “Yeah, I- yeah, sure. Now?” and Eliza nods hastily, “yeah, just – let me get dressed”, and Theodosia looks away, blushes. “Yeah, of course, I’ll just – go wait outside”. 

Angelica looks at Eliza slowly. Pats her back. “Oh my god”. It's all she says. 

Theodosia's funny and interesting and extremely, annoyingly cute. Eliza keeps staring at her while she stirs her drink, and Theodosia stares right back, a small smile tugging at her lips. They laugh and talk and then laugh some more and by the end of the date she feels like flying. It's nice. Eliza gets an overwhelming urge to braid Theodosia's hair and that makes her burst into giggles. Theodosia looks a little lost. “Hair braiding”, she explains, and she smiles at her, crooked, pretty, and Eliza's face turns soft. 

“Alex's completely in love with John, though”, Theodosia says at one point. Eliza freezes. “John likes Alex”. Theodosia looks at her with a funny expression. “Likes?”. Eliza makes a noncommittal noise, considers it. “He wants to go out with him”. 

Theodosia takes a sip of her coffee.

-

When Theodosia and Eliza walk into class the next day together the people already in the room erupt into cheers. Lafayette congratulates them in rapid-fire French. Angelica's smiling secretively, and when Maria turns to kiss her cheek her smile turns into a smirk. Eliza rolls her eyes at them, turns back to Theodosia, picks up the conversation from where they left it.

Alexander's naturally already in the room, stretching and glaring at Theodosia. She mouths a “sorry!” at him. He sticks out his tongue at her, goes back to trying to reach her toes. It's not going well.

“You should ask him out”, Theodosia whispers during class. Alex almost chokes on his tongue. “What?”. Theodosia shrugs elegantly, gets down further into the plié. “I did and look how well it turned out”. Alex splutters. “ _Eliza_ asked _you_!”. She quirks an eyebrow. 

As if that makes a difference. Someone has to ask. She says this, quietly, looks at Alex with her eyebrows raised. 

Alex goes quiet at that. Theodosia turns her eyes back to herself in the mirror.

-

Alex starts bringing his pointe shoes to class again. It frustrates John so much that finally, after a few weeks of Alex religiously bringing them in, just putting them in one corner and staring at them longingly for the duration of the class John snatches them right out of his hands, marches into the dressing room and throws them onto the hat shelf. “Do _not_ bring these into my classroom ever again”, he grumbles, walks right back into the room with his arms crossed. “You don't have any faith in me”, Alex retorts sourly. “I wasn't going to _use_ them”, then, quieter, “in your class”.

John does a full 180 degree turn. “In my class?” he repeats, disbelief coloring his voice. Alex shrugs. “You will not wear them _anywhere_. What the fuck”. He mutters the last part. Alex frowns. “I paid for them, though”, he says, petulant, and John wants to slap him. Instead he breathes in, slow, controlled, counts to ten. “Alex. The only thing you will do with those shoes is break your ankles. I'm serious. The only people in my _most advanced group_ that I let use pointe shoes on their own are Lafayette and Angelica. They have been dancing since they were five. That's _twenty years_. Maria's been dancing for seventeen and she still scares me sometimes with her feet and ankles. Eliza's really bad at tying them and someone _still_ has to check that they're tied well enough before I let her dance in them. She's been doing this for almost eighteen years. Alex, you've been dancing for two _months_ ”. Alex mumbles something unintelligible at that. “Yes, two months. I would not let you even put those shoes on, let alone _dance_ in them if my _life_ depended on it”. Alex is still looking at him dubiously. John sighs.

“Look”, he says mildly, “I can show you pictures of ballerinas who broke every bone in their ankles by using pointe shoes incorrectly if you really want. Or you can take my word for it”. Alex looks at him for a long while. There's this kind of fascinating look of sulky defiance in his eyes that makes them look even darker than usual, and for a second John thinks he's just going to do it anyway, walk out of the room, find a broom or something to fish the shoes from the hat shelf and put them on just to spite him, but then he nods, once, and that's it. He goes to his spot on the floor, starts stretching. Doesn't say anything for the rest of the class.

-

“He hates me”, Alex whines as he drags his hands down his own face. They're lying down on the tile floor of Theodosia's kitchen (because duh, cold weather, heated floors, hello) after class, still in their ballet attire. Theodosia's put on a sweater on top of her leotard, and Alex has pulled on a pair of sweatpants, but that's it. Anything else would require too much energy.

John's been pushing them hard for the past few weeks, saying things like “if you guys want to get _good_ you need to push yourselves”. And push they had. Alex is pretty sure there isn't a single muscle in his body that doesn't hurt. His shoulders feel too tight. His thighs perpetually feel like they're on fire. The ache in his ankles and lower back never stops. It's amazing, really – he takes pride in his high pain-tolerance. It seems like this type of dull ache in his muscles just isn't that easy to ignore, after all. 

Theodosia lifts her head by a couple centimeters. “He doesn't _hate_ you”. Lets her head flop back onto the floor. Lifts it up again. “Ah”, she hisses, “that really hurt. God damn. Why do you think he hates you?”. Alex makes a non-committal sound. Gestures vaguely with his hand. “Ever since that one time I got sick and he drove me home he's been so weird around me. He _avoids_ me.” Giggle. “He's your _dance teacher_. You see him four days a week. He _can't_ be avoiding you.” Alex rubs at his eyes. “Stop that. That's bad for your skin.”

Alex takes his hands off his face. “Something's wrong though,” he mumbles, “something's different. I don't know what changed. Something did. He hates me. Ugh. He saw me when I was at my weakest and now he thinks that I'm clingy and weird.”

Theodosia's quiet for a second. “What if I told you that he kind of... opposite of hates you?”

“What.” says Alex. “What does that mean. Theo. What.” Theodosia picks at a loose thread on the sleeve of her sweater. “Eliza said he likes you.”

“What.” “Yeah.” “What do you mean _likes_.” 

Theodosia rolls over onto her side to face him. “Like he wants to take you out on a date”. Alex goes back to dragging his hands over his face. “On a date.” “Yes.” “Eliza told you this.” “Yes.” “Fuck.”

-

Lafayette is probably the most French person he knows and he knows a lot of French people. He loves America, don't get him wrong, but sometimes he just _misses_ his language and people, alright, nothing wrong with that. And Mulligan really tries to learn French for him, but right now he's a lot better at listening than he is at speaking and it's still not the _same_. Angelica's good but she gets bored of it very quickly, doesn't like to exclude the rest of the group like that, and Lafayette's left with no one to have a French conversation with.

And then Alexander Hamilton drops his phone onto his own face in class. 

“ _Merde_ ”, he says, quite loudly, and Lafayette can practically _hear_ his own eyes widening. “Français?”, he calls out, excited, and Alex's head turns so quick Lafayette's afraid he's going to break his neck. “Ah, prends garde à toi!”, he calls out. “Merci”, says Alex, considerably weaker. Rubs his nose.

After that they fall into a weird sort of relationship where they talk to each other across the room in loud French with Angelica and Mulligan shaking their heads and the rest of the combined groups just trying their best to ignore them and John begging them to stop, and when Lafayette invites Alex out with him and Mulligan he doesn't hesitate, just asks if he can bring Theodosia. Lafayette thinks it's a great idea. Theodosia asks if she can bring Eliza. Both Alex and Lafayette think it's a great idea. Then Lafayette suggests that they invite the entire advanced group and Alex thinks it's the best idea he's ever heard. 

No one told him that John was coming too, though. 

They're in a very nice but very full bar that's very close to the studio. There are fairy lights draped over the sitting area and Alex is working through his second drink with such vigor that both Theodosia and, to his surprise, Angelica have asked him to calm down already. He feels nervous, on the edge, and the buzz of alcohol in his veins is calming him down a little. John keeps looking over at him and he keeps looking back at him but neither of them has said anything to the other. The dark look in John's eyes is making him nervous. He forces himself to look away.

Lafayette keeps talking to him in French, keeps trying to drag him down to lay on top of him where he himself is half lying down on Mulligan's lap. He's bright-eyed and happy, as is the rest of the group, and Alex finds himself smiling and laughing with them. It's not like it's him and then the rest of them even though they do have their own inside jokes and “ _oh my god, Martha, remember that one time-_ ”s, they are trying so hard to make him and Theodosia alike feel welcome. Well. Theodosia and Eliza are mostly focusing on each other. It's the thought that counts, he figures. They're trying. That's what matters.

Martha drags Peggy onto the dance floor, then. Maria exclaims, pets at Angelica's hair more insistently. Eliza pats Maria's back in a silent “good luck” wish, gets up herself, takes Theodosia with her. Angelica keeps smiling serenely, refuses to budge. Maria lies down across her lap, resigned. Angelica pets her cheek with one finger. She closes her eyes, smiles sweetly. 

The girls that made it to the dance floor are flocking together like baby birds. They look good though – the soft pink of the spotlights makes Theodosia's eyes glow. It sharpens Eliza's face, makes something dangerous sparkle in her eyes. She looks like a predator, for a second, like a cat ready to bounce. Theodosia wraps her arms around her neck, easy, and closes her eyes, tilts her head back when Eliza puts her hands on her face. Bares her throat to her. 

The same soft blue neon glow that bounces off of Martha and Peggy, who have at this point practically melted together as they slow dance, illuminates John's face. His eyelashes are impossibly long. The amount of freckles on his face seems to have doubled. God, there's freckles on his _neck_. Alex feels like whimpering. He doesn't but only because he keeps reminding himself of the time he had had to find a janitor to get his pointe shoes down from the hat shelf. Even that seems kind of endearing, now. 

There's a point where Alex is in the middle of a sentence when he turns to his right and sees John staring at him with such _heat_ in his eyes that he forgets what he was saying, trips over his words, turns his head bashfully. His cheeks feel like they're burning, and they might be, they probably are, and he's grateful for the neon lights and the darkness. 

He excuses himself to the bathroom in the middle of one of Lafayette's ten minute long monologues about how lonely he is as a French person in New York City (in French, naturally), and Lafayette tries to grab his wrist as he gets up, catches the fabric of his shirt sleeve instead. Mulligan peels his fingers from around the sleeve of his shirt patiently, leans down to kiss Lafayette. He goes willingly, melts into it. Alex has never seen a person purr but the sounds Lafayette makes when Mulligan tilts his chin gently come very near. 

He stumbles down a narrow hall and into the bathroom. The minute it takes him to get there feels impossibly long.

The artificial yellow light makes his face look weird. There's a wild look in his eyes, and he splashes his face with cold water, tries to wake himself up. It does help, a little, makes the world a little bit sharper, brings him back to reality. 

He can't stop thinking about the dark look in John's clear hazel eyes, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its 1am im going to die


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We should still bully them into dating”, Theodosia says, ignoring her entirely. “I can't _stand_ Alex like this. John is _literally_ the only thing he talks about”. Eliza quirks one eyebrow. “How do you think them dating would change that?”. “It wouldn't but at least he'd sound _happy_ when he talks about him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this class is moving really fast im sorry idk 
> 
> also dont. get used to this update pace lmao im home sick and have Time TM but i gotta go to school eventually
> 
> sry this is kinda . short. see the part abt me being sick

November rolls around in a flurry of busy schedules and too much snow for it to be nice.

“Holy shit”, declares Alex as he walks into the studio, knocks his shoes against the doorstep to get rid of the snow. The receptionist looks at him with quiet disapproval and he smiles at her sheepishly, pads to the dressing rooms as quietly as he can. He's pretty sure he still leaves a trail of snow and dirty water behind. New York City winters are the _worst_.

He finds Lafayette in the dressing room. Mulligan isn't there, which is odd and makes Alex raise his eyebrows. Maybe he's late. Alex waves at Lafayette who doesn't look up from his phone, just wiggles the fingers of his lifted hand in silent acknowledgment. 

It's been almost a month since the Thing at the bar with John and he supposes that it's sort of weird that he's still fixating on it, but there isn't a lot for him to fixate on, okay, so it's actually perfectly reasonable considering that it's the most dramatic thing that's happened between them. Ever. Things have returned to normal in class, mostly, as much as they can. John's hand don't linger when he fixes Alex's posture and Alex looks at himself instead of John through the mirror. But there _is_ a weird kind of staticky energy that he just can't put his finger on or name and it's – it isn't _physical_ and he doesn't know if he could explain it if he tried. Things just feel tense. Overstretched. 

Alex rubs his eyes. God. 

Theodosia's already in the room by the time Alex walks in. The advanced group seems to have adopted her as one of their own, and currently she is in the middle of the cuddle pile that's positioned itself in the middle of the room. It's just her, Eliza, Angelica, Peggy, and Maria, with Lafayette still hiding in the dressing room and Mulligan missing. Martha's talking to John. Well, talking _at_ John, really, judging by the way he's silently “mhmm”ing his way through the... Well, to call it a conversation would probably be a little bit too generous. 

Theodosia spots him, lifts one hand lazily. Alex waves back, sits down on the floor. Sighs. Ugh.

-

“Do you think we should do something about Alex and John?”, asks Theodosia one day. They're sitting at the coffee shop they've started to frequent. It's a Sunday and there's no practice. It's the first date they've been able to have all week with Theodosia's school and Eliza tirelessly training and working. Eliza's bundled up in scarves and knit hats and her heavy winter coat, cheeks flushed. She shrugs. The motion makes the pile of clothing on her jiggle. Theodosia stirs her iced coffee delicately. Bites her lip. “They're both adults”, Eliza says. She's sipping on her steaming cappuccino, eying Theodosia's drink with affectionate judgment. “Theo, honey, it's ten degrees outside.”

“We should still bully them into dating”, Theodosia says, ignoring her entirely. “I can't _stand_ Alex like this. John is _literally_ the only thing he talks about”. Eliza quirks one eyebrow. “How do you think them dating would change that?”. “It wouldn't but at least he'd sound _happy_ when he talks about him. Besides, imagine the amount of double dates.” There's a smile tugging at Eliza's lips. She pretends to take a sip of her coffee to hide it. “Who says I want double dates?”, but there's a smile in her voice. 

“Fine,” she says, after a few minutes, “I'll ask the girls to help out”. Theodosia's smile is blinding as she leans over the table to kiss Eliza's cheek softly. 

“Can we go back to having a date now?”, Eliza mock-complains, and Theodosia takes her free hand into hers, kisses her knuckles.

-

“I'm just saying, everyone can _feel_ the tension and it's distracting and annoying and if you'd just do something about it, I don't know, I’m not telling you to ask him out or kiss him or anything but that would probably help, just do _something_ , John, we are suffering”.

John closes his notebook. Martha puts her hand on top of John's where it's flat over the cover of the notebook. “John”, she says, empathetically. He eyes her for a second. Martha gives him her best smile.

“Martha, I can't”, and her face falls, immediately. “You mean you don't _want to_ ”. Her face twists into a scowl. “No”, says John, stops to consider. “Well, maybe. Point is, stop. It'll be fine.” It's said in such a meaningful tone that Martha does, surprisingly enough, actually stop. She lets her hand fall down from on top of John's. 

John watches Martha cross the floor, scowl still on her face. She falls down on top of the people lying down on the floor. Three pairs of arms appear to position her better on top of them.

-

“What the hell,” Alex hisses when John makes them pirouette across the floor under his sharp gaze one by one. He does this sometimes, but it never stops being scary, intimidating. Alex knows that he's not the best student in the class, not even close, it still hasn't stopped bothering him, actually, and these kinds of public displays of skill always leave him sour and sulky.

Theodosia smiles at him, pats his back. She's usually the star of these kinds of exercises and when John calls her to the front she just smiles confidently, pads across the floor delicately. Gets into position.

“Shoulders, feet, head”, John lists at her. She's reached the point where he doesn't really have to specify what he wants her to change, knows automatically. She knows her weaknesses and knows how to fix them, knows that when John says “head” he means “be more confident in what you're doing, keep your head straight, stop looking at your feet”. “Very good, though. Again.” Theodosia goes. “Nice corrections. Watch your posture. Face”. Alex catches Eliza giving her thumbs up from the other side of the room. She's imitating doing a pirouette, exaggerating the details she wants Theodosia to focus on. 

“Has she been teaching you ballet? That's unfair”, he jokes.

“Ballet”, Theodosia says absently, “I guess. More like yoga”. Alex quirks his eyebrows. Theodosia seems to consider it. “Hot yoga.” Alex shudders. “Thanks. For that.” Theodosia smiles at her wickedly, makes an obscene hand gesture. 

“Alex”, calls John. Alex mimics getting his throat cut. Theodosia snickers.

He's not very good at pirouettes. John knows this. Actually, the entire class knows this – he's getting okay at some of the moves but God, he can _not_ get pirouettes right. John keeps telling him to give himself time. It's frustrating – he can do all of the steps individually and most of them don't look half bad, but as soon as they're merged together he's left tripping over his own feet. 

“Spot, spot, spot”, encourages John as he fumbles, almost falls over, “Alex”, and the sigh is good-natured but serious. “Let's take it one step at a time”. Alex's face burns but John's voice is soft, gentle. “Plié, point, feet, arms. Push”, and then his hands are ghosting over Alex's hips, guiding the motion gently, and Alex's heart slams against his ribcage, breath stuttering in his throat. “Spot, spot, spot. Fix your feet, you're sickling your foot”. He focuses on that, straightens his spine, and then John lets go and he lets himself fall back onto his feet. 

John clears his throat. “Adrienne?”. It comes out as a question.

Alex hides his face in his hands.

-

Alex doesn't do Thanksgiving. It isn't a _tradition_ and he's happy to take the few days off work and lie down on the couch for four total hours and watch shitty TV until the weight of existential dread takes him into its firm grip and forces him to finish all of his projects. It's the same exact tradition he has with every other holiday; a few hours of self-indulgence and the rest of the time spent in panic, writing and writing and writing until his wrists ache and he's ready to collapse. He needs routine. Thanksgiving destroys his routines.

Theodosia insists on dragging him out of his apartment as soon as she hears about these plans. Her family lives out of state and she doesn't really feel like traveling that far for the long weekend so she's spending Thanksgiving with Eliza and the rest of the group. And Alex, apparently. 

He's not too happy about it but he supposes that he can do it. He likes the group well enough, and he kind of wants to get to know them better, and he's not one to say no to free food or booze, which apparently both will be there. “I love dating a rich girl”, says Theodosia once, and Alex side-eyes her, points out “You're rich too”. “It's different, though”, Theodosia argues, and Alex _hmm_ s, pokes her side. She yelps. 

When the invitation comes in the mail he rolls his eyes so hard it kind of hurts. It's a real life invitation letter. In a letter. It came in the mail. He's not even sure how exactly the Schuyler sisters got his address. It's so incredibly excessive and he calls Theodosia immediately. 

“It's not that fancy”, she says, sort of muffled, and Alex rolls his eyes. She's probably with Eliza.  
“It's an _invitation letter_. Should I go buy a suit or something?”. It's silly. He wouldn't. He couldn't afford that. 

Theodosia rolls her eyes. He knows this because she also breathes in that funny way she does when she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Don't get a suit”. Alex hangs up. 

He thinks about the free food. The free booze. He can do it.

-

Nope, never mind, he absolutely _can not_ , _will not_ do this, because okay, apparently John is coming as well, and also the Schuyler residence is huge and Alex feels so out of place in it, feels like he shouldn't be there at all. Vaguely wonders if he should have dressed fancier. He had almost turned right back around when he'd arrived and seen the house but had decided against it when he'd seen Theodosia in one of the huge windows facing the road, waving at him furiously. He's already one drink in, tugging at a loose thread at the collar of his shirt, and he's _just_ relaxing if only just marginally, and then the door bell rings and John walks in.

Alex chokes on his straw. 

John is dressed in a soft-looking cream sweater and black jeans. His hair is pulled up into a high ponytail. It makes his freckles stand out even though they have gradually faded as winter has rolled in. Alex wishes for immediate and swift death.  
“Hi”, he says, instead, and John smiles at him, easy, relaxed. “Hi”. 

Maria, Martha, Eliza, and Peggy flock around him like a group of pigeons. Angelica, Lafayette, and Theodosia keep talking like nothing had happened. Mulligan's standing in one corner, sipping his drink sullenly. “He and Lafayette are having relationship trouble”, Eliza had whispered to him when he'd asked, and he'd frowned. He knows that they've been together for almost five years. It's kind of sad. He hopes that they'll be able to figure it out. 

The party isn't that bad, after all – they gather around the dining table and laugh and eat and joke and Alex feels kind of buzzed. A good kind of slightly out of it. Angelica is a warm weight against his side when they stumble into the living room, flop down on the floor. Martha burrows into his other side. He makes careful eye contact with John, who looks down at the pile of bodies on the floor, shakes his head gently, lovingly. There's a sweet smile on his lips and it's making Alex feel kind of floaty. 

Peggy offers to braid John's hair and he agrees, sits down with his back against her chest as she twists his hair into braids with such immense focus, tongue between her teeth. Her eye to hand coordination is a little off. Eliza moves over to help her. 

Alex closes his eyes. He's warm, buzzing, and content. Theodosia rolls over from where she'd been spooned against Martha's back. “Look”, she says, breath sweet and warm against his ear. He opens his eyes, cranes his neck. John's looking over at them with a lopsided grin, hair now on two sloppy French braids. He smiles back. John doesn't break eye contact.

He makes a decision, then, gets up, ignores Angelica's whine of protest. Martha scoots in, throws one arm around her. John keeps looking, and looking, and looking, and then he's right there and Alex drops onto his knees, lies down right in front of him like an offering. His heart is trying to punch its way out of his chest. Closes his eyes.

John lies down behind him, careful, gentle. His breathing is unsteady against Alex's ear. He scoots back a little bit, and it makes his back press against John's chest. John makes a tiny noise that Alex isn't sure how to interpret. He closes his eyes again. 

John wraps his arm around his waist gingerly. Eliza sighs behind them, puts her own arm around John.

-

They start talking again, after that.

He hears that Lafayette and Mulligan made up later at the party and he has no recollection of that happening, honestly, but then again he'd spent most of the night cuddled up against John's warm, solid body trying to calm himself down enough to force his breathing to even out. 

Point is, life more or less returns to normal. John still puts his hands on Alex's waist when he struggles his way through pirouettes, but he gets better at those too, gradually, and then John needs to come up with a new excuse to touch him. He starts going out with them more, and John keeps joining them, and they keep making eye contact. 

When classes let out the day before Christmas recital John stops him before he can leave the room. Martha and Maria “oooh” as they pass them. Mulligan points finger guns at them. John flips them off, nonplussed. “So”, he says as soon as the room has been cleared of people, “I was wondering if you would,” pause, “like my phone number or something.”

Alex stares.

“That. Was the worst thing I've ever said.” John puts his hands on his face. “I think I'm trying to ask you out.”

“Oh!”, says Alex, loudly, then quieter, “oh. I mean yes. Yes I would like your phone number, yes”, finds his phone, unlocks it. Shoves it into John's hand. Wrings his wrists while John types it in.

“I'll text you?”, he says, unsure, as he stumbles out, and John gives him an unwavering smile and thumbs up with both hands. He texts him a “Would you like to grab coffee with me after class tomorrow?” as soon as he gets out of the door, stares at the screen for a second. Smiles. 

Alex feels fluttery the whole way home, and when his phone pings with a new message from John (“Hi! Yes that's fine!”) he has to bite at the inside of his cheek to keep himself from screaming.

-

Jefferson starts talking about throwing together some sort of staff Christmas party. Burr stares and stares and stares as he goes on and on about a _performance_ , says, “What, like a talent show?” and Jefferson snorts, says, “Sure”. Madison coughs. Jefferson offers him a few swift punches to his back right behind his ribs without even looking at him.

Washington, amazingly enough, thinks it's a good idea. Jefferson looks so satisfied Alex feels a physical need to throw up. Burr continues to look mildly uncomfortable.

“I don't celebrate Christmas”, Alex deadpans when Jefferson tries to blackmail him into taking part in the performance, takes a bite of his sandwich. It's a good sandwich. He's not going to let Jefferson ruin his sandwich-eating experience with his nonsense. Jefferson rubs the bridge of his nose with his index fingers. 

“What, are you Jewish or something,” and Alex picks out a piece of lettuce from his sandwich. Squints at it. It looks kind of suspicious. The sandwich shop should probably take better care of their fresh produce. “Actually, I'm a satanist.”

Burr sputters from somewhere behind them. Alex unlocks his phone and texts John about the Christmas talent show. 

John texts back an excited “Talent show!”, then, seconds later, “You should do pirouettes for that!”. Alex fights the urge to stick out his tongue at his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wasnt supposed to happen yet but alas
> 
> i watch dance moms a lot & u should as well

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on [tumblr](http://lcfayctte.tumblr.com/)


End file.
